DayZ: The Morons Guide to Half-Assing the Zombie Apocalypse
by DeadAliveManiac
Summary: In the isolated province of Namalsk, four soldiers are deployed on a recon mission as the UN plans a decontamination of the area. Their only line of escape fails, leaving them left and forgotten to the residents, living or dead. The group must brave the elements, zombies, bandits, and each other in the hopes of escaping. Or will it be the bite, or bullet, that ends it all for them?
1. Drop Off

**Disclaimer: I am not racist, anti-Semitic, anti-Islamic, or any form of hateful, this is just the sense of humor I have. If you get easily offended or hold onto any principles too tightly, click the back button now.**

The Apache flew through the air of the bitter Russian air, the buzzing filling the ears of four figures hanging out the doors, all dressed in the same camo apparel and helmets, the wind rustling the tops of the trees. The men stared aimlessly at whatever passed, the ground, trees, the occasional bird grinded in the propellers, the same things they had seen for the past hour and a half. Finally, a rare clearing appeared, large patches of blood in several places, several with humans clamoring over them. The men aimed down and cleared the area with their assault rifles, touching down as nothing emerged from the trees.

* * *

In a dark, metal room with a swinging light illuminating it (barely), an elderly woman sat, her hands clasped together as she stared at them blankly. "Dr. Vasilyevich?" an angered voice said.

She broke from her spell and looked at the man, a black man in a beret and military wear adorned with medals. She opened her mouth but closed it quickly, staring at the man. "What happened in Namalsk?"

Her eyes widened at the mention of the Russian state, an island left to fester by the world. The virus they knew as Crazed had popped up in a little village on the island, a small child bitten by an infected dog. Soon, the village turned and wandered into Namalsk's more major cities, panic ensuing and the body count rose dramatically, 85% of the island's population had become infected or killed in a year, the rest continually clinging to survival and shooting at each other like a bunch of animals. The American media covered this in the early months of 2012 extensively. Some reports went on saying this signified the end of the world (further lengthening and increasing the hysteria of the 2012 Mayan Apocalypse), others an act of terrorism by vengeful Chechnyans, conspirators against or for Vladimir Putin, and even some claimed it was remaining fallout from nearby Chernobyl. While the virus has no real known origin or what it is, it is known to be spread through bite and bodily fluids getting directly into the bloodstream.

"Dr. Vasilyevich, I won't ask again." the man said, his Glock on the table.

She sighed and leaned towards the man, speaking, "The virus was not contained, it spread to the other island, we should have blown that damn bridge months ago. The number of zeds could be over 100,000 in the main cities alone, God help anybody in the country sides. One bite…one scratch is all it takes to turn. For now, I say we give no evacs without extensive checkouts and more research on symptoms of infection."

"What about the unit I sent in?"

She finally looked up at him, saying, "We have four flags lying around, right?"

* * *

The men hopped out of the chopper and it immediately took off, the few zeds that had emerged now chased it off into the distance. "So what's the plan?" the oldest of the group said, scanning around them through the scope of his M16.

"We mark this place with a slow-burning flare and come back at nightfall, we're just here to recon this area." the shortest of the group said.

Another one spoke, the tallest of the group, "Something just isn't kosher about this."

"Screw you Scarecrow." said another man, the group chuckling at his discomfort.

The short one dropped the flare and it instantly lit up in the late afternoon light, the group then bursting for the tree line in the direction of a light smoke. Soon, fumbling through the branches and thorns, the men found a stone cottage, the roof sinking inwards but intact. They slid back-first into the wall next to the door and the oldest checked the window, nothing. "Check it out, DAM." he said, gesturing the shortest one to the door.

DAM kicked the door open and ran inside, swinging his Colt Python in all directions, then giving his crew the thumbs up. Immediately, a zed popped out of the room adjacent to him, the wide-eyed crazy look it had terrified him, screaming in a high-pitched voice, "Get it off, help, get it off NOW!"

Scarecrow pointed his double-barrel at it and blasted it, the right side of its head imploding as it collapsed onto DAM, still screaming hysterically. He rolled the corpse off of him, jumped up, and brushed himself off, "Whew, I handled that rather well."

"Dude, you screamed like a little bitch, every zed for a mile could have heard that. Honestly, have you hit puberty?" the other tall man of the group said.

"LITTLE…fuck you, Zivon! How about I slap your shit?!" DAM said, raising his fists in anger.

"I'm sorry, but you must be this tall to fight me." Zivon said, raising his arm well above DAM's head.

"Oh…this tall?" DAM responded, giving a Nazi salute.

"Guys, knock it off, just check the house and let's get back to the field." the eldest said.

DAM grumbled under his breath as they searched room to room, finding canned food, ammunition, and medical supplies. They heard a thump upstairs, followed by another high-pitched scream from DAM, and they met at the stairs. "What the hell was that?" DAM said.

"Probably your balls dropping, finally." Zivon responded.

"Fuck off, you Schindler reject!"

"Who's gonna check that out?" Scarecrow asked.

"I vote Harbinger!" DAM responded, the other two men's hands shooting up in approval.

Harbinger shook his head and slowly walked up the stairs, his M16 strapped in front of him and a trench knife ready in the other. He surveyed the surroundings and signaled the others up towards him, the stairs creaking and thumping with the very conspicuous stomps of the bunch. Harbinger sighed, covered his face, and said, "You guys are the biggest bunch of idiots I've ever had the misfortune of working with, how'd you get chosen for my unit again?"

Unfazed, the men spread out and checked the rooms for the noise, the sun now dying beyond the trees. The bedroom Zivon was in was quiet, but he swore he could feel eyes on him. He noticed the closet next to him and slowly approached it, his hand outstretched for the handle. Suddenly, the wood exploded from the door, a round passing right by Zivon's ear and impacting the wall behind him. He dove right next to the closet and out of the range of fire, Harbinger burst into the room and fired off several rounds into door where the first bullet had emerged, firing off one more for good measure from his semi-auto bursts. A voice spoke, somewhere between elderly and four packs a day, from inside, saying, "You hit me the first time, you dick."

Harbinger flung the door open and a man sat there, blood pouring from his shoulder, gut, and chest, a Mosin-Nagant in his lap. Scarecrow and DAM entered the room soon after the man had been revealed. "Why'd you shoot at me?" Zivon said, rising in front of him.

"I'm not letting you sons-a-bitches take me, not like Lilly." he managed to utter, blood seeping from his mouth.

The men looked at eachother, confused. "Sir, we're American soldiers, we've never been to Namalsk before." Scarecrow said.

The man chuckled, clutching his chest. "Ah, Americans, so you're here to attack me, rob me, and destroy everything and claim it was for my own good? Yeah, way different from the bandits. Well, let me catch you up to speed, we've got our own personal piece of Hell right here. The dead aren't even the biggest threat; no law, no rules, no order, people do whatever the hell they want."

"Who are they?" Harbinger said, the man cocking his gun and getting the aim of all their guns.

"Relax, I'm out. I'm talking about the bandits, they look like the god damn Muslim brotherhood or some shit for whatever reason. They push people like me around and demand supplies; I didn't have what they wanted last time…they killed my Lilly."

"Sir, we can take you back to our base in Paris, we can treat you." DAM said.

The man snapped, "I ain't lettin' you sons-a-whores take me to that death camp, oh no! You won't take me alive!"

He grabbed his rifle and pointed it at his chin and pulled the trigger, blood, bone and brains splattering against the ceiling. The men looked on horrified, DAM finally saying, "You know what's weird, how could a man who most likely lived in Russia his whole life speak English fluently and sound like a guy from the South?"

"Shut up, DAM." Harbinger said, exiting the room.

The men were at the stairs, ready to exit as the glass window behind them shattered, glass flying against them as they hit the deck. "Hey, old man, you're late on your payments again, how about we reintroduce you to your wife!" a man said, his voice heavily Russian.

Angered, Zivon sprung to his knees and aimed out the window with his Lee-Enfield at the man in the dying light and firing, splattering the ground with his brains. "He's dead, and you're next!" Zivon growled.

"Oh shit, is that another group of bandits in there?" they heard them whisper.

"How many do you think are in there?" another said.

"We've got 10 on us now; I think we can take 'em."

"We've got 20 on us in here!" DAM yelled, getting a slap upside the head from Scarecrow.

"Should we call there bluff or what?" another man whispered.

"Better leave now, we're all 6 foot 10 and built like brick shithouses!" DAM yelled again.

"Dude, you're 4 foot and built like a Teletubby." Zivon said.

"I think they're full of shit." the previous man spoke.

"Hey, Americans! How would you like to die, quickly or left for the zeds?"

"You don't have a chance in Hell without at least an RPG." DAM said.

"Oh…you mean like this?"

Seconds later, the wall beside them exploded, wood and rock flying into the house as DAM screamed again. "When will you learn to keep your mouth shut?!" Harbinger yelled, the men ducking down the stairs.

**Well guys, here's the first chapter, hope you enjoyed. As always review, favorite or subscribe to this or any of my other works or me. Thursday: The Hunt for Rebecca Chang begins! Also, sorry this is a day late, I realized now that I uploaded everything 2 days early so I pushed this and DR2 a day back. Otherwise, we're on schedule and ready to go!**


	2. Not Stepping Back or Standing Up

Harbinger herded his troops to the front door, bordering on running or staying to fight. Finally, after looking over his troops and at his own gun's clip, he pushed the door shut and spun the lock, earning an immediate response from DAM, "Wow, that'll stop those crazy bastards!"

"Shut up, Verne Troyer. Alright, listen up troops, here's the plan; Scarecrow stand at this door, your gun has the power to punch through it. Zivon, I want you at any window you can find, keep anybody from coming in that way. I'll get to the stairs and give you high cover. DAM…uh…get the basement, if there is one." Harbinger said.

"Uh, Harbinger, can I switch with Zivon?" DAM asked, his voice showing his anxiety.

"What? WHY?" Harbinger said, baffled.

"I just saw The Conjuring before I left the States."

"SO!?"

"I'm never going into another basement as long as I live, or near another wardrobe for that matter."

"Jesus Christ, why are you doing this now?!"

"I never thought it would be a problem."

"For Christ's sake, your in the god damn army, getting shot at with a god damn rocket launcher by a bunch of god damn bandits, and you're scared of a ghost movie at this moment in time?!"

"Yeah, see you understand where I'm coming from, Sarge. Cut me break, will ya?"

"Just get to the basement and don't get us killed, you pusslet." Zivon demanded.

"Oh, screw off, why don't you go to the kitchen, you'll be more useful there."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, you can do the honor of your ancestors and shove yourself in the oven, if you'd be so kind!"

"Go back to the North Pole you Keebler reject."

"OH, a short joke, how original! Why don't you shove a cactus so far up your ass…?"

"Alright, ENOUGH! Get to your posts now, or I will shoot you all myself!"

The privates rushed to their posts, except for Zivon, who stopped by the basement and flicked the light off long enough to evoke a high-pitched shriek from DAM. Suddenly, silence fell all throughout the house; there were not even footsteps outside the house. Scarecrow looked up to Harbinger, his aim still on the door, before the knob began to turn slowly, barely making a noise. Scarecrow slowly turned to look at the doorknob before taking aim. Just as his finger gingerly pulled the trigger back, a window in the living room shattered, several men yelling and clambering through the broken glass. At the same instant, Zivon was in the doorway of the living room, firing at the intruding bandits, dropping three of the intruders in a pile. "Scarecrow, now!" Harbinger ordered.

Instantly, Scarecrow shot his two rounds at the door, shredding a decent hole through it. On the other side, two men flopped to the ground, buckshot lodged in their chest and neck. The furious bandit leader kicked the door in, firing his AK-47 at Scarecrow as he ducked into the dining room beyond the foyer, "Get him, you idiots!"

* * *

In the basement, DAM was walking around aimlessly, kicking the dust on the cement floor and pulling his pistol on invisible enemies, coming up with different catchphrases for the right situation. He heard the gunfire above and nearly jumped out of his skin, accidentally firing a round out of his revolver and falling onto his back, aiming immediately at the stairs. Suddenly, he heard hurried footsteps heading to the doorway of the basement. He rolled over to the stairs, sliding under them as a man in camo, black boots, and a ski mask came down, a man in identical apparel behind him. "Okay, the boss isn't here, can you light me up?" the first man asked, his hand extended and fingers forming a "V".

The other bandit sputtered, looked around and put a cigarette in his fingers before lighting it. The first bandit took a deep inhale, the end of the cigarette burning a bright, deep red. "Thanks man, much appreciated."

"Yeah, better hope Boris doesn't find us stealing cigs, he'll kill us."

"Don't worry, he's busy up there, he won't bug us."

DAM was now breathing heavy, the sweat seeming to freeze all over his body. The bandits had their backs to him, he had his gun ready, but he could not bring himself to stand. From above he heard the rat-ta-tat-tat of an AK; he knew he couldn't let his teammates down now. DAM slid out from the stairs and snuck up to the bandits his revolver aimed at the smoking bandit. He put the gun to the back of the bandit's head, catching him by surprise and dropping the cigarette from his mouth. "Drop your guns, now!"

The men slid their straps off their shoulders and slid their guns across the floor, holding their hands up high. "We surrender, just don't hurt us!"

"Yeah, we hate Boris, he's an asshole."

"Hey, Smokey Bear, can I ask you a question?" DAM asked, cocking his revolver.

The bandit took a nervous gulp, responding quietly, "What?"

"Who's your favorite president?"

The man took a moment to think before responding, "If I had to pick, I'd say Franklin Delano Roosevelt for his influential diplomacy and…"

"WELL, mine's JFK!" DAM interjected, pulling the trigger and spraying the wall and other bandit in blood.

The surviving bandit looked at DAM in horror, bringing himself to say, "What kind of monster are you? We surrendered, we were unarmed! For God's sake, man, we know you're American and peace isn't your deal, but fight a fair fight, Jesus! I mean, what you think I have, oil?!"

DAM turned his aim to the bandit, adding, "My favorite Vice President is Dick Cheney. Oh look, a pheasant!"

With that, DAM pulled the trigger, sending the bandit went sprawling onto his back and cracking his head on the cement, desperately clutching the blood squirting from his neck. "Oops, my bad." DAM said before kicking the bandit in the groin. "Welcome to Wal-Mart, go fuck yourself." he added, firing another .357 into his forehead.

* * *

Boris attempted to enter first, but Harbinger had fired at him, the bullets striking the side of the doorway opposite of him. Boris ducked back in front of the house, yelling at his troops to enter, pronto. His next troop stormed in blindly, quickly shot through his left side by Zivon. He aimed his shotgun at Zivon, but Harbinger fired several more bullets into his head, coring out a rectangular shape in the top of his head. Harbinger charged down the stairs but Boris and his last man had entered the house, his assault rifle and his comrade's pistol aimed at him. "Drop your gun, now! Tell the same to your men." Boris said calmly.

Harbinger dropped his gun where he stood and slowly raised his hands. "Guys, come out, drop your guns."

Zivon and Scarecrow came out of the living room, their arms raised with their guns in one hand. "Drop them."

They promptly did so and were forced to their knees by Boris' accomplice. "Now, you've taken out some of my best men, but the rest have a good leader to take over the losses. Now, your men are very disciplined, something I need in my troops. But, there is room for only one leader. Nice meeting you…" Boris said, fixing a bayonet to his AK.

"Sergeant Harbinger, and fuck you."

"Oh, how kind of you, now goodbye!" Boris said, bringing his AK back.

Harbinger looked Boris right in the eyes as he thrust his bayonet forward, but before it could tear through his heart, a shot rang out. Boris stopped immediately, shaking as he turned behind him, his own man holding the smoking gun. "Why…"

"Consider this an impeachment." the man said, putting his Tokarev to his forehead and pulling the trigger.

Boris' corpse slumped to the ground before the shocked Americans, the man removing his mask and revealing his long blonde hair and shaggy beard. "Alright, you guys are safe, the rest of us are at the base. I can't honestly thank you enough, we have waited for an opportunity like this for months. Boris has become more tyrannical and cruel by the day, he started executing our own. You can join us if yo like; we're done with what he had us doing."

He extended his hand out to Harbinger, who looked apprehensively at the hand and its owner. Suddenly, the man looked at something behind them, a loud shot rang out, and the men doubled over, a bullet in his gut. Before he could rise up, another shot rang out, this bullet digging through the side of his neck and sending him flopping back, blood spraying and flowing from his wound. The men looked behind them to see DAM aiming his revolver, still cocking the hammer and pulling to trigger to get empty clicks. "What the hell are you doing, stand down!" Harbinger shouted.

DAM blew on the barrel, spun the barrel around his finger and attempted to holster the gun, missing several times before he guided it into the holster. "It's okay, I got two others in the basement, did you get the rest?"

"Yes we did, but why the hell did you shoot him, he saved us, you half-pint jackass!" Scarecrow yelled.

DAM's face took a sudden look of horror, then to grief as he freed his gun. "Private DAM, what the hell are you doing?" Harbinger demanded

"I can't go on, Sarge, I've done unspeakable things, I can't live like this! I'm an animal, I won't last two seconds back in society, I can't, I won't!" DAM said, cocking the hammer of his gun to the shouts of his comrades to stop.

He pulled the trigger, only for another hollow click and his sudden burst of laughter. "You guys are idiots, I'm out, remember?" DAM heaved, reloading his gun.

"Oh, I'm going to kill you, you dumb sack of shit!" Harbinger said, lunging at DAM, trying to break free from Scarecrow and Zivon's grasp.

"Sarge, we can kick his little ass later, but now it's getting dark and, from what I hear, those things like noise, we have to get back to the flare." Scarecrow said.

Harbinger regained his grip, grabbed his gun and said, "Alright men, back to the field!" before charging out the doorway.


	3. The Russian Man Hits the Propeller

Harbinger lead his gaggle of troops back to the field they landed in, the flare still burning bright, gathering around the only source of light in the blackness surrounding them. In the distance they could hear the engine of the Apache approaching, Harbinger speaking up, "Alright, listen, we tell command the zeds are hardly a threat, its the "bandits", apparently. We tell them they shot first and we gave them every opportunity to leave."

"You make this sound like we committed a war crime." DAM said.

"Oh my God, seriously?" Zivon said.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Harbinger inquired.

"You say it like we're covering up whatever we did, we shot an old guy but he killed himself. The bandits attacked us, we fired back and killed them, that's just defense in both cases, what's to hide?"

"Yeah, he has a point." Scarecrow added.

"Don't encourage him." Zivon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I just want it to be easier for when we get questioned, in and out, you know?" Harbinger replied.

"I'm just saying, it's really sketchy the way you're covering this up." DAM said, the conversation stopping as the light of Apache shown down on them, still a football field away as it continued its approach.

* * *

A man in the woods took aim at the helicopter with his Dragunov. _I'm not letting these American assholes go back to their paradise._ the bandit thought to himself as he slowly squeezed the trigger.

* * *

The helicopter was so close they could feel the wind from the propellers beating down on them. Suddenly, a gun shot rang out, the four soldiers hitting the deck as the helicopter swung to its left, then to its right and flew full-steam ahead into the woods where the Russian man stood in horror, unable to move before the propeller blades mulched him. Just as soon as the helicopter struck a tree, it exploded into a magnificent blaze of orange and red, the flames shooting high up into the night sky. "Directed by Michael Bay." DAM muttered to himself, getting a slap upside the head from Harbinger.

"Stay down, don't move, I need to think." Harbinger said.

"Dude, fuck that, the helicopter's burning so hot the flames are exposing our position." DAM refuted.

DAM rose to his feet and Harbinger hissed, "Get back down, that's an order private!"

"Screw that, if you want to live, follow me!" DAM shouted as he darted for the trees at the opposite end of the clearing.

"Private DAM, get back here or I'll have you court-marshaled!" Harbinger demanded.

Suddenly, DAM let out a deep-throated battle cry, "LEEROY JENKINS!" before disappearing into the woods.

"What a fucking idiot, does he think this is a game?!" Harbinger growled.

"We're better off without him, if he dies, humanity benefits." Zivon said.

"Okay, so what's the plan?" Scarecrow whispered.

Suddenly, dozens of men in dress identical to those they had just killed funneled out of the woods, aiming their Kalashnikovs down at the trio. One of them spoke in Russian, to which Harbinger rose and said, "Hola, mi amigo, me llamo es Harbinger. Yo soy un soldado Americano..."

"What the hell are you doing, sarge?!" Zivon said, his voice hushed so not to draw the aim of the guns to himself.

Harbinger brought his hand to his mouth and leaned back towards Zivon, whispering, "Trust me, I speak their language."

"You're speaking Spanish!" Zivon yelled.

"Shit!" Harbinger hissed.

"Get to your feet, you filthy capitalists!" another demanded.

"Wow, a communist supporter in Russia, what a cliché." Scarecrow said.

"What a stereotype we have, as well, three American soldiers are seemingly invincible in a firefight and then get captured, then formulate an insane plan to escape." the Russian shot back.

"Touche." Scarecrow replied.

"Now drop your guns, pistols at your side, too. NOW!" the Russian demanded.

The three had no choice but to unsling their choices of arms and sidearms and drop them in the grass before their new captors, the man speaking up. "Now turn around and go back towards the crash, you're coming with us."

"I don't think so, Jack..."

"My name is Uriel." the man said with confusion.

"Whatever, I always have a plan C, or should I say, C-4!" Harbinger said, producing a detonator from his chest pocket.

The group gasped in unison as Harbinger pressed down on the button, but the explosion came from the helicopter, tearing the remnants of the husk to smithereens. "Dammit, I thought it was closer!" Harbinger cussed.

"Wait, you had explosives on that helicopter?" Uriel asked, astounded.

"Yeah, I thought it would have crashed a lot closer, though."

"Sarge, how did you know the helicopter would crash though? What if it didn't?!" Scarecrow asked.

"Well then, my paranoia was unfounded and trust well-placed."

"What if you accidentally hit it and blew it up before we were on it, or, worse yet, we were on it!?" Zivon continued.

"I have to agree with your idiot comrades, even if you correctly guessed it crashing, the chances of killing us with another explosion were near zero, I mean where would we be, right next to it? Then you'd die too!"

Harbinger groaned in anger, "You know what, you lead these three idiots for weeks and then you can complain to me all you want about bad decisions!"

"Wait, there's only three of you now, is there a fourth?" Uriel demanded.

Harbinger's mouth snapped shut at the question he was presented. "It doesn't matter, no man can survive out here on his own for long. Come with his, we have special plans for you pigs."

Scarecrow opened his mouth to point out the cliché but a rifle butt cracked against the side of his jaw, knocking him out-cold as he flopped backwards. "Anyone else want to be a smartass? Good, I didn't think so, now pick him up and move!" Uriel said.

Zivon and Harbinger tended to there unconscious ally, slinging his arms over their shoulders, Zivon whispering, "Do you think that idiot will come back for us?"

Harbinger looked back at Zivon in surprise, replying, "You can't be serious? There's a better chance of not getting laid in a monkey whore house with a sack of bananas than that idiot moving a finger for anyone but himself."

The two lifted Scarecrow up and dragged him along into the woods, the men behind them not taking their eyes or aim off them for a second.

* * *

DAM lay comfortably against a tree, the back of his head propped against his hands and his leg resting across the opposite knee. "Do they need my help? Nah." DAM reassured himself as he nodded off.

His bid for sleep was ended when a moaning zed came shambling towards him, throwing itself down onto the private who was now screaming hysterically.


	4. For Cocoa and Hazel Nut Spread

DAM woke up the next morning, stretching and clacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He scratched his head and began to notice the weight on top of him, his eyes beginning to focus on a blurry object directly before his face. He embraced the person on top of him, whispering to it, "Was it good for you, too?"

He looked again and recoiled in shock, a rotting face of little teeth staring vacantly at him, mouth ajar and a bullet hole in its forehead. "I gotta stop drinking, this shit's getting worse." he muttered to himself.

He rolled the body off of himself and realized the task ahead of him, his teammates were gone. He had no idea where they were, how to get them, and how to get there. But, he could feel it brewing inside of him, swishing in his guts, swirling through him and making him light-headed, cramping his stomach, the burning desire to run as fast as he could to accomplish an urgent mission brewing inside him. His stomach churned and let out an audible gurgle, the foul-mouthed man doubling over with a terrified look on his face. He ran for the bushes, forcefully expelling the watery contents of his last meal into the bushes, shouting bloody murder.

* * *

Scarecrow was sprung awake by a bucket of water being thrown in his face, nearly falling back asleep had it not been for the shock and the demands of a neon blonde Russian, "Rise and shine, Americans, you have much to learn." the hunched over Uriel said.

Scarecrow leaned forward in his chair, limp, looking around, Zivon and Harbinger on both sides of him in a well-lit yet dusty factory. "How many clichés do you have? A bad guy with frosted tips, a factory, and tying us to somewhat uncomfortable wooden chairs? Dude, you're the epitome of a stereotype." Scarecrow said weakly, a sickly smile spreading across his sore face.

"Shut up! I am sick of hearing you talk about clichés, this isn't a movie or some piece of crap script! This is real life, so stop taking this far less seriously than you should!"

"Scarecrow, stop," Harbinger harshly whispered to his comrade, "Hello, Mr. Uriel..."

"Kutuzov, Uriel Kutuzov."

"Oh, God..." Harbinger mumbled under his breath, keeping his expression unchanging, "I am Sergeant Harbinger of the United States, the greatest goddamn country on Earth..."

"Oh, please, spare me the formalities, just get straight to the point."

"Alright, we're here on a reconnaissance mission for the lay of the land, potential hazards, and strongholds we can use to wipe out the threat of the undead."

"So, you're just a piece of the army? Not all of the army is here, correct?"

"That's right."

"Good, and we shall keep it that way." Uriel stated, walking off to an adjacent closet and coming back with an old camcorder in hand.

"What is that?" Zivon demanded.

"You have no idea how good your homeland is until there are no rules, no restrictions, and no sanctions. We are free to do what we want," Uriel said, stepping up to the men and showing them a video playing on the flip-out screen.

The shaky video showed four men in red berets and camouflage clothes on there knees, a man in a black ski mask pointing at the camera and babbling on in Russian. Finally, he pointed at the men as bullets riddled their bodies, blood and flesh spraying about until they collapsed forward, the video ending there as Harbinger screamed, "Jesus Christ!"

"What, I couldn't see anything?" Zivon said.

"Yeah, me neither. The quality of this thing is terrible!" Scarecrow added.

"Exactly! The screen's too small, the audio fades in and out, and the video is so shaky! It's like the ending of The Blair Witch Project!" Zivon commented.

"Except that could actually keep my attention." Scarecrow quipped, he and Zivon joining one another in a hearty laugh.

"Enough! I have had it with your smartass comments!" Uriel roared.

"Look, all I'm saying is if you want to make a statement video, at least use the right equipment. I mean, for God's sake, how expensive is a Flip camera in this hell hole?" Zivon inquired.

Uriel gave Harbinger a piteous, astonished look, uttering, "I am so sorry, how do you not kill yourself?"

"Years of practice and they'll take my bullets away if I go off the deep end again."

"Wait, what?" the Russian man cried.

"That's not important, what was that?"

"That, my friends, was the execution of four high-ranking Spetsnaz soldiers. The Russian government has tried to send in the military, the most harshly-treated soldiers of all time and hardest trained, and they could not stop us. We will not allow the world to return to normal, we want it like this forever."

"What, are you going to kill us?"

"What, three random soldiers of little-to-no value? No, the American media will make you into martyrs and then a large scale invasion is inevitable. Tell your country how nothing is wrong and that no invasion is needed."

Uriel looked at the camera's screen, clicking a button before counting down with his fingers before pointing at the trio. The soldiers looked at each other, stunned and unsure of what to say. Finally, they looked at the camera, Harbinger saying, "Hello, I'm Sergeant Metal Harbinger, I'm the leader of the FUQ squad. My team just wants the American people to know there is no problem in Namalsk. The invasion is unnecessary, the people here can handle themselves and are much happier."

"Yeah," Zivon interjected, "and the Russian military is just pumping propaganda at you that is not to be trusted. Namalsk is fine and you are safe as well, the citizens assure us it is under control."

"But," Scarecrow added, "they do have oil..."

"Goddammit, cut!"

* * *

DAM walked out of the bushes, buckling his belt and quietly sobbing, his backside felt as if it were on fire. He had lost all ambition to hunt down his team, he felt violated, he felt dirty, most of all, he was tired. So what if they were gone? If they were dead, there was no point in hunting them down. Why risk his life for a group of men he was sworn to do just that if there was no point? He collapsed to his seat by a tree, whipping his rucksack off his back and rummaging through the contents, nearly slicing his finger on a black-bladed kukri. He rifled through it for some time, his expression getting more panicked with each passing moment. Then, he got to his knees, looking into the bag and taking out all of the objects, his knife, ammo, books, until there was nothing to grab. He brought the bag above his head, open end facing the ground, as he shook it madly, still nothing fell. He quickly regained his possessions and ran off to the patch of open land where he had, well, abandoned his comrades. He got on all fours, rummaging through the overgrown grass, muttering to himself over-and-over, "Where is it?"

Finally, his frustration got the best of him, the soldier rearing back, arms outstretched, and let out an earth-shattering screech, "WHERE'S MY GODDAMN NUTELLA!?"

He rose to his feet once more and contemplated searching his way back to the house, God help him if he left it in that haunted basement. Then, a thought occurred to him, a rare occurrence. _Zivon! He took it! That shifty little Jew! _DAM's anger slowly broke to an unbreakable visage of stern determination. The pint-sized warrior pulled his rucksack up closer to his back and brought out his revolver, advancing into the woods. His mission ordained by God had begun.


	5. The Black Soldier

DAM continued to cut through the forest his allies had been dragged through, trying to get to wherever they were by nightfall. What caught his attention, other than his speedy recovery from possible food poisoning, was the amount of dead bodies he was coming across, all dead of a stab wound to the head. Many lay rotting, impossible to tell whether they were a zombie or not, but a few were fresh, and they looked human. He could hear the rush of water ahead, a sound that instantly brought his thirst to him, he felt as though he may fall over from his sudden bout of light-headedness. He stumbled forward, the shouts of two men clashing making him duck behind a tree.

One was a man clad in total black garb, his camo clothes, his boots, his beret, even his face was painted black, a shashka in hand. His opponent was a standard Spetsnaz soldier, a Ka-Bar in hand, behind them lay a fast-flowing stream, a single board joining the two banks. The Spetsnaz made the first move, swinging his arm around and attempting to impale the black soldier. The soldier caught his opponents forearm with his free hand, quickly kneeing him in the gut before smashing his elbow across his face. The Spetsnaz stumbled back, the black soldier lining up a swing, but the Spetsnaz countered with a punch to the gut, doubling over the dark warrior. The brought both hands back, clasped them together and slammed them into the back of his head, sending the soldier crumbling to the ground. The Spetsnaz stumbled backwards, dazed and trying to catch his breath, turning to see the black soldier rise. He let out a frustrated sigh and charged the soldier again, knife raised high in both hands to impale his foe. The soldier brought his sword back in both hands under his right arm, shooting them forward and sending the sword flying at the charging Spetsnaz, the sword hitting true. The blade went clean through his left eye, a third of the blade sticking out of the back of the screaming Spetsnaz's skull. The Spetsnaz grasped the blade before keeling over, the black soldier clapping his hands of dust before putting a foot on the Spetsnaz's head, pulling the sword out with a mighty heave. The soldier turned his head to the man in a green army suit clapping at him, a smile on the diminutive man's face. The soldier stuck his sword in the ground, placing his hands on the pommel and holding his ground, his expression blank as DAM approached, saying, "Hello."

The man did not even look at DAM, merely staring off straight ahead. "You did a great job back there."

Still not a flinch out of the Russian soldier. "I'm going to save my comrades from some douche, are you up for it?"

Still nothing. "Sorry, I'm Private DAM of the United States Army." he added, extending his hand.

Nothing. DAM slowly retracted his hand, disappointment showing on his face and in his voice, "Alright, I'll just be on my way."

DAM moved to walk beside the soldier, getting his first response, the soldier still unemotional and blank, "None shall pass."

"What?"

"None shall pass."

"Dude, I'm from the US, so show some respect and let me save my friends...and Zivon."

"I move," the Russian said, now staring at DAM, "for no man."

"I have to go to them!"

"Then...you shall die."

"Fuck it!" DAM said, drawing his revolver on the man.

The man was just as quick, he swung his blade upwards, knocking the gun from DAM's hands and far to his right. DAM recoiled with his hands in front of him for protection, waiting the inevitable. He slowly opened his eyes and regained his posture, wondering why the man had not killed him. The man had his sword in one hand, blankly staring at him as he uttered, "You will not fight that way and I will not kill you unarmed."

"What? The fuck's wrong with you?"

"Draw your tool of combat and fight me in hand-to-hand death!"

"What is this, a knight fight?!" DAM moaned, getting to his knees and rummaging through his rucksack, producing his kukri.

"Ready?" the Russian said as DAM rose.

"Fuck you."

"Have at you!"

The soldier gave a wild swing at DAM's midsection, the American easily juking the blow and backhanding a swing at the Russian's face. The soldier ducked the blow, laughing as he shut upright, swinging down on DAM. DAM blocked the blow with his blade, hooking them towards the ground and headbutting the soldier, sending him back holding his nose. The Russian growled in anger, swinging down on the midget who had wounded him. DAM sidestepped the haphazard blow, and the next overhead chop, stepping on the blade wedged in the ground and slamming the tip of his kukri's handle onto the crown of the Russian's head, dazing him. The soldier let out another angry cry before swinging at DAM again, aiming to decapitate the American. DAM returned the swing, sending the sword kicking back over the soldier's shoulder and knocking him off balance. DAM took the chance and swung at the soldier, severing his left arm from the shoulder. Blood spurted profusely from the wound, the Russian blankly looking at his severed arm and the blood around it on the ground, DAM proclaiming, "Well, that was a good fight. But, you're done."

"No I'm not."

"What?!"

"It's nothing but a scratch."

"A scratch? Dude, I chopped you fucking arm off!"

"No you did not."

"Then what's that?!" DAM demanded, pointing his blade at the severed limb.

The soldier merely shrugged it off, "I've had worse."

"Oh, you're so full of shit!"

"Come on ya pansy!" the Russian shouted, swinging at DAM again.

DAM blocked another series of sloppy swings, the soldier bringing his sword back, pointing the tip straight at DAM, and shouted madly as he charged at the soldier. DAM easily sidestepped the advance, swinging again and severing his other arm, the limb and his sword falling to the ground. DAM got to a knee and threw his rucksack to the ground, unzipping it for his kukri as he thought, _Now..._

His thoughts were immediately interrupted by the armless soldier booting him in the head, sending DAM toppling over and staring up in shock at his adversary. "You've got to be fucking me..."

"Had enough?"

"Come on, just give up! You've got no arms left, you dumb fuck!"

"Yes I do."

"What's that?!" DAM screamed as he rose, pointing to the other arm.

"Just a flesh wound." the Russian replied, kicking DAM in the shin.

DAM bit his lip in frustration, trying to ignore the soldier's weak kicks. "Please...stop...stop it...stop...STOP...STOP IT!" DAM shouted, bringing his kukri across his body and swinging low on the soldier.

The blow sliced the soldier's right leg off cleanly, but he somehow managed to hobble on one foot, DAM's jaw dropping as he uttered, "Come the fuck on!"

"Alright, I'll give you that last one, come here!" the soldier said, nudging into the American with his head in an attempt to harm him.

"For fuck's sake, just give up!"

"I'm invincible!"

"What are you going to do, bleed on me?"

"I'll bite you!" the Russian replied, sinking his teeth into DAM's shoulder.

DAM shrieked in pain, shouting, "Fucker!" before repeating his last swing, sending the limbless soldier to the ground. He landed perfectly on the stumps of his legs, looking at all of his stumps as DAM put his kukri away, the soldier muttering, "Alright...we'll call it a stalemate."

DAM rolled his eyes as he walked past the now-harmless soldier, the angered man turning and shouting, "Oh, running away when it gets too hard like a real American, I see? You fucking coward bastard, get back here and get what you deserve! I'll bite your legs off!"

DAM rolled his eyes as he retrieved his revolver, the soldier's ceaseless rant wearing his last nerve very, very thin. He strolled back behind the soldier, still attempting to turn around and see where his foe had gone. "Yeah, that's what I expected from an American, born to a whore of no virtue and a pimp of no fiscal knowledge!"

DAM fired the gun into the back of the soldier's head, finally silencing the invincible Russian. "Fuck me! Is the whole journey going to be like this?"

"I hope not." an aging voice hissed.

DAM swung his aim to the source of the call, an elderly man with a long, white beard, a brown robe, and a metal helm with antlers atop it staring at him, a group of men behind him. "Don't shoot!" the man called out, his Scottish accent strong as ever.

"Who are you?"

"We are the faction of many names, but call us the Hammer and Tickle."

"The what?"

"It doesn't matter," a man behind him in a blue sweater and jeans said, "I am Lance, this is Josiah, Robin, Ben, Stu, Vladimir, Nikolai, Jorge, and the man you spoke to is Tim, our wise man."

"Wise man? What the fuck is this, the Dark Ages in the 21st century?"

"No time for that, boy," the haggard old man said, "we must make haste and go for a large camp not too far away. We must cross into the Forest of Ni, by the Cave of Caerbannog, and then walk the Bridge of Death. Only then can we save your friends."

"Really, this has to be harder than it is? It's not a fantasy quest, guys, this is me trying to save men who gave a great duty to this country...who I tried to abandon..."

"Well, you have no other option but to follow us. So, come along, boy, and we shall make it through this together." Tim said, leading his troops and a reluctant DAM across the plank.


End file.
